Gods in Exile
by Oh No Ono
Summary: A familiar, but fatally different threat has assembled the Avengers and the banished princes of Asgard must once again come to Earth's aid. Tempted by their demons and each other, can they save humanity? Thor/Loki.
1. Chained

Hey! Thanks for reading. This is the first fanfiction I've written in years and I hope you enjoy it. It includes explicit Thor/Loki content in later chapters but what I'm really trying to write is a true-to-character followup to the plot in the movie. Let me know what you think!

_I know how men in exile feed on dreams._  
-Aeschylus

* * *

It was funny, Loki had begun to think, how his captivity seemed to torture his brother more than it tortured him of late. A smile tugged at the sides of his lips as he mused on it.

He sat, suspended, chained, in his astral cell, surrounded on all sides by a procession of the universe's bleakest scenery. It changed at maddeningly random intervals. For a time he had found himself in the pale, remote tundra of some forsaken planet that had never felt the touch of warmth despite being bathed in light. No snow, no shade, skies the color of blood. Jotunheim looked like paradise by comparison. Then, just as senselessly, he had been transported to the cracked landscape of a desert world, baked to a hot and hard shell from hemisphere to hemisphere, ground blacker than pitch as unknown beings slithered past under gaps that looked like veins. There was no true sense of days or months, but he would have wagered his kinghood that he had lived a century in a quiet land of strange, rolling dunes. They were composed not of sand, but tiny gray pebbles, each the size of a fingernail. Some dunes looked as high as mountains and cast shadows that stretched as far as his eye could see. As they shifted in the dry wind, they seemed to whisper secrets in unthinkable tongues.

It was during this particularly taxing phase of his imprisonment that he became aware of his brother's presence. At first, he was wearily resigned to believing it a symptom of oncoming insanity that he could sometimes, over the oppressive sights and sounds of his surroundings, feel the heat of a body, smell sweat, and even hear breath. Occasionally, the chain attached to his neck would grow taut, then fall slack again. He knew it was his brother. No one else would bother to visit him, or even if they did, dare to come that close. Without much else to occupy his thoughts, Loki would concentrate on these sensations, drinking them in greedily, obsessing over the idea that either by way of losing his mind or sharpening it, the wall that kept him locked away was weakening.

The sensations, however, slowly became stronger. Soon he could hear the rustling of clothing and the creaking of leather over the noise of ever-changing environments. Sometimes he heard grunts of frustration or even regretful sighs. Whatever ancient magic was being utilized to keep Loki in solitude, Thor's interference had eroded it…perhaps to the point, Loki now suspected, that he could use his brother's attentions as a ladder over the wall.

He was in a prairie that stretched out like an ocean on all sides. The beige grass looked as lush as velvet from far away and mummified, insectile up close. Somewhere, a windmill was creaking. He couldn't see it. His eyes were closed, black lashes fluttering as he dipped in and out of consciousness.

Then he felt it. A rough, calloused hand over the back of his own. His smile started soft and serene, then widened into a grin.

"Thor."

When Loki opened his eyes, he saw nothing but white. The sudden sterile light felt like an assault and he sucked in his breath sharply, trying to cover his eyes with his palms. His hands, however, were still chained. His bonds made quiet metallic noises as he struggled against them.

"Brother…!" There was shock and a hint of guilt in Thor's rich voice. By now Loki could see well enough to make out Thor's broad silhouette backing away until it was against the marble wall. Loki's dark eyebrows furrowed as a pounding headache bloomed behind them. Thor's form became still- he made no further moves either towards or away from his brother. Loki wanted to lash out at him for this inaction, but his voice cracked as he did so and reduced the impact of his venom.

"Are you going to stand there like a half-wit, or are you going to free me from these…things?"

The "things" he referred to were a series of heavy, interlocking chains anchored together at a central chestpiece that extended downward into a sort of armored corset. The chains radiated out to his wrists, which were then attached to ornate O-rings on his black leather boots. His hands rested on top, giving him the appearance of someone seated in meditation. A high metal choker kept his neck from turning or stretching. A long chain extended from the bottom of the neckpiece, hanging between his pale bare pectorals, past his chain mail leg coverings and metal codpiece, terminating just above the ground.

His green eyes had fully adjusted and now he saw Thor's face and form clearly. His brother had…changed. His blonde hair was longer now and spilled over his corded, muscular shoulders. His posture was still that of a god-king, but no regalia was present on his body- rather, he wore a simple black jerkin without sleeves and matching black trousers made of animals hide.

However, the most subtle change, and also the one with the most meaningful implications, was in his eyes. Still blue, still intense, they now held a complex sadness unfamiliar to Loki, who raised an eyebrow and peered closer. He wouldn't have though his brother capable of such a delicate emotion. It wasn't until he snapped out of it that he realized how long he had been gazing back.

"Come, brother," he purred, smiling, watching Thor's eyes light up as if they were smiling as well. "These bonds don't suit me. In fact, I find them rather impractical."

Cocking his head as much as possible within his restrictive jewelry, Loki kept his eyebrows raised.

Forget the eyes- Thor flashed a real smile, his teeth white as the marble that surrounded him. He approached slowly, his boots making strong footfalls while he crossed the perfectly cylindrical room. Cracking his knuckles and chuckling, he looked at Loki with something that was almost respect, and almost pity.

"I apologize, Loki…"

Thor's hand shot out suddenly to grasp the chain hanging from his brother's choker, jerking his head forward with it. This broke whatever spell was keeping Loki suspended in place. He tumbled, helpless, at his brother's feet. His quick wit was out of practice and he merely sputtered in indignation.

Thor ignored this, wrapping the chain lazily around his broad, tanned hand. With another firm jerk, he brought Loki up on his hands and knees. Hate boiled behind Loki's eyes as his brother began to pull him along the slick marble floor, and though the very idea of it was mortifying, he crawled to keep up. As they reached the doorway, Thor tossed one more comment down at his prisoner.

"…I believe these bonds suit you quite well."

* * *

"Did I ever tell you about the time I beat Hugh Hefner in a thumb wrestling match?"

Pepper's left eyebrow plummeted down. Her right one, on the other hand, went up. Way up. She tossed a perfect auburn curl over her shoulder, which was bare except for a hint of shimmery lotion. Radiant in a Leger bandage dress, she was more beautiful than Tony could ever remember her looking, and it made his sure jaw feel useless all of the sudden.

Realizing that each and every one of those sappy observations had _actually_ gone through his head, Tony punched himself mentally. In the nuts. Hard. He was starting to understand what Agent Coulson must have felt when he drooled over his Cap cards by the light of the moon…god rest his soul.

"…two things," Pepper began, leaning forward over their intimate table. It was reserved, tucked away in the back where prying eyes would lose interest. Elsewhere the trendy restaurant was packed with young professionals and their trophies. In the midst of the New York night life fakery, candlelight illuminated every suspicious curve of Pepper's expression.

"First, if you had met Hugh Hefner, you already would have told me about it, most likely on the day of." She thought for a beat. "Most likely on your cellphone, while he was still in the room."

Tony pulled a scotch-soaked ice cube out of his tumbler, popped it in his mouth, and leaned back with a wry smile.

"Second," she continued, "in the event that you come within thirty miles of the Playboy mansion, Hugh has assured me that an elaborate cloaking system is in place to prevent your entry. If that doesn't deter you…well, there's a self-destruct button in the Jacuzzi."

"Hugh assured you, huh?" Tony matched her suspiciousness with his feigned version. "Was this while you were still on the casting couch, or were you enjoying the shag carpeting by then?"

She let out a single, mocking laugh. Her hand dove into her clutch to pull out her top of the line smart phone, modified and optimized by Tony himself. She noodled with it for a moment, then tossed it onto the table.

"I keep tabs on anyone who could be a particularly bad influence on you."

In the light of the flickering candle flame, Tony looked at the screen and saw the wizened face of Hugh Hefner above a number with a Los Angeles zip code. Contact name: H-Cup.

"Ohhh, my dear heart," Tony tutted, picking up the phone, "I don't know what surprises me more…that you'd make SUCH a pedestrian boob joke, or…" he pressed CALL, "…that you're the jealous type."

She snatched the phone out of his hand and popped it back in her jeweled clutch, using the opportunity to pluck out a tube of Chanel lipstick.

"Spare him, Tony. It's past his bedtime. You can text him later. Promise." Standing, she adjusted her dress and turned towards the hallway to the lounges. "Be right back, Mister Stark."

"He can't text back!" said Tony as she sashayed away from him, "His thumbs are broken."

Winking, she went around the corner. He sat back in his chair, body language all relaxation and mirth. Almost taking another swig of scotch, he glanced at the edge of the glass and saw a coral lip-print. He paused and grinned to himself.

"God_damn_, do I love that woman."

He was a beat from swigging anyway when the front window burst in, showering the trendy peanut gallery with glass and drywall, sending waiters and chairs flying with the same violent abandon.

Barely managing to duck as the maître de ricocheted off the wall behind him, Tony quickly rolled under the table, still grasping his drink. He made a point to hang on to it, in fact, because in the haze of pulverized building materials and a stinging mist from what must have been a destroyed fire hydrant just outside, he saw it, and thought that liquid courage might prove a strategic advantage.

"It" was a jumble of armor and slimy flesh, still moving despite obvious injuries. It roared with pain and frustration, strings of drool bowing outward from its jaws like spider webs in the wind. Strange appendages jutted out at random angles from the gaps in its armor, shifting with inhuman urgency. As it raised its gun, the glow piercing the dining room's intimate dimness, Tony saw dozens of identical glows approaching from the street outside. They stalked towards him with purpose and hunger in their alien strides and suddenly Tony felt a pang of recognition. They didn't look exactly the same…in fact, they looked pretty jacked up- crumpled, hunched, and dirty. They were oozing. Most disturbingly, their battle formation showed no intelligence or strategy. Kill a hundred of something, though… and you get to know its ins and outs.

"Chitauri," Tony scoffed. "So last month."

Never one to waste good scotch, Tony downed the last of his in a single gulp, then tossed the glass aside. It hit the groaning maître de in the back and shattered. Wincing, Tony stood and fiddled with his platinum cufflinks.

"Sorry, Garcon."

The cufflinks suddenly glowed with electric blue light. Tony rolled his neck, took a long breath, and faced the encroaching monsters.

"You know," he addressed them, the hair on the back of his next standing up, "You were already ugly. You don't have anything to prove."

Electricity coursed over his suit as a crescendoing hum radiated from his wrists.

"Now, don't get offended." He strode around the rubble at his feet. "You don't have to be the prettiest girl at the ball to tango."

Light suddenly filled the restaurant's interior.

"Shall we dance?"


	2. Doppelganger

Hello again. No Thor/Loki in this chapter, just some exposition and foreshadowing. Enjoy!

* * *

A fluorescent light bulb buzzed off and on overhead as Bruce let himself into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary research lab. It was quiet this morning, and with each transparent monitor turned off, looked full of layered windows. Though it bustled with activity on a daily basis, when empty it looked so white and clean that an onlooker might swear it had never been used. It was fully stocked with any scanner, gadget, or material a scientist could use (and then some). A candy store for someone like Bruce, but to him it was even more than that.

Walking further into the room, Bruce felt like he was coming home. He shivered in his drawstring pajama pants with an audible "brrrrr," trying to shake off a long night of sleep. He was sleeping better nowadays. His solitary travels, fulfilling and refreshing as they were, never netted him more than 4 hours of rest each night. That was when he _wasn't_ by the train tracks. Or trying to sleep while goats were in the room.

The lodging at S.H.I.E.L.D. was bigger on utility than comfort. Beds were thin and ergonomic. Walls came bare unless one took the initiative to dress them up. There were no mirrors in the rooms- he had to go to the communal bathroom to shave. Bruce eventually found that he liked living this way, though at first it was jarring. For years he had lived amidst rich cultures, walked through shady markets that offered cheap spices and cheaper spells, climbed green hills previously untouched by the soles of modern shoes. Now he found himself in line for breakfast with dozens of identically dressed twenty-somethings who kept their heads down and didn't even laugh that time Tony remotely hacked the menu display to make it say "steamed vagtables."

S.H.I.E.L.D was more foreign than foreign. It was…peace.

Catching sight of his formidable bedhead in the reflective surface of a smoke hood, Bruce balked.

"Maybe I'll _buy_ a mirror."

He could have kept staring, maybe even fixed the hair situation, but there was work to do and Bruce believed there was no room for vanity in science, despite what Tony might have said. He padded in sock feet towards the back of the lab. There, along the wall, was an aluminum panel studded with large drawers. It resembled the inside of a morgue…and was one, in a way. Each drawer was a self-contained cryogenic chamber with full life-support capabilities. Most of the bodies therein were dead, with a few exceptions.

As far as the body Bruce was working on…well, that's what he was hoping to find out.

He keyed in the individual security code to the chamber marked "15," which contained his subject. The drawer began to slide not outward, but inward, as the gap it left was rapidly filled with whorls of mist. He would meet it on the other side of the (meter-thick, titanium) wall.

Donning a hazmat suit from a nearby closet, securing his gloves and boots, he left the helmet off long enough for a retinal scan and entered the first level of decontamination. Two more levels and an airlock later, he stepped into the cold, sterile autopsy room.

Casually standing in the middle of which was Steve. The Captain held a steaming mug in one large hand. On the side it read "Ask me when I'm done drinking this." Bruce immediately recognized it from a novelty gift basket that a fan had sent Steve anonymously through the mail. After being scanned for explosives, it was passed along to him.

Steve dipped his head for a sip, then seemed to register Bruce's nitrile-rubber-clad presence.

"Hey, champ," he said brightly and took a taste. "Jeez!" He recoiled, blowing on the coffee's surface. Bruce stared in annoyance, crossing his arms with a sound like a balloon animal being made.

"What?" Steve asked, genuinely confused. "It's hot."

"What the hell are you doing in here without protective gear?"

Steve tapped the side of the mug that displayed the caption, then leaned down to look at Bruce's experimental subject.

"Ok, cute. Genetically perfect and all that. But you don't know what kind of moon-viruses are all over this thing and you can get sick just as fast as I can." He gestured towards the crumpled, frozen Chitauri.

"Well, it didn't infect Tony with anything before he killed it with his cufflinks," Steve countered, "so I think it'll be just fine."

"Snufflinks."

"…excuse me?"

Bruce faceplate-palmed. "He calls them snufflinks. Portable photon cannons that hone in on alien elemental signatures. Tony…" Bruce chuckled, taking off his helmet with a defeated shrug. "…Tony got drunker than usual last weekend. Texted me at _length_," he emphasized, "about the idea. I guess he works even faster lately."

The Chitauri's left arm snapped off, but Steve deftly grabbed it before it hit the floor. "Whoops. Guess he really did a number on these things."

Plucking it out of Steve's hand, Bruce placed the spindly appendage back at the alien's side, then engaged the mechanism on the side of the slab which converted it into a rolling operating table. He used its newly descended wheels to move the body to the middle of the room. A large round lighting fixture with settings for every spectrum option hung just above them. Bruce settled for "visible" and pulled out the table's collapsible tray of sterile examination tools.

"Doing things the old fashioned way, huh?" Steve glanced up at the series of idle robotic arms and remotely controlled tools that festooned the ceiling. Usually they were used for examinations.

"Look who's talking." Bruce winked, running his gloved fingers over his materials. "Nahhh, I like to freehand it. Some habits die hard." He looked Steve in the eye. "You never told me why you were in here."

"Oh. Of course," Steve answered, somewhat sheepish all of the sudden. "Two days ago I was giving a speech at Westpoint's commencement and this rogue scientist who defected from the Human Genome Project showed up. You might have heard about him on the news."

"Mmhmm," Bruce said noncommittally, his attention divided.

"Well, anyway," Steve continued, "He literally dropped down from the rafters and onto my shoulders. Started wailing on me as hard as he could. I could barely feel it- guy must have weighed 120 pounds soaking wet."

"You don't sayyy…" Bruce trailed off as he began to liberate the Chitauri's chest armor from the charred skin underneath. There was a sucking sound when he pulled it away, then it clattered to the floor. He chose, then raised, a diamond bone saw.

"Yeah, gotta give him points for effort. He actually managed to lift my hood and shave a stripe off the back of my head before I got him off of me. "

Steve turned and sure enough, there was a long bald area stretching from his nape to the top of his right ear. Bruce snorted.

"That's a good look."

"I'm aware of that." Steve remained deadpan. "They took him to jail immediately. I wasn't concerned about it- there are crazies everywhere."

"And how." A pink mist rose intermittently as Bruce sawed through carapace and muscle alike. He was still listening, kind of.

Steve stared down at the body as Bruce began taking organs out of it handful by wet handful.

"He showed up in Times Square last night, maybe to wreak havoc, maybe to hurt some people. Regardless, when he got there, he looked like me."

A seven-ventricled heart plopped onto the hanging scale and Bruce peered over it. Now he was interested.

"He had busted out of county for long enough to pick up a costume, too."

"Wait…don't tell me."

"Party City. Leveled the paper goods aisle."

Bruce laughed as hard as he could with his arms up to the elbows in alien guts.

"So he ganks your genetic material, uses it to imitate you somehow, and goes on an old-fashioned New York rampage. How'd you beat him?"

Staring into his half-finished coffee, Steve shrugged.

"I didn't."

Bruce paused pulling away a membrane with his forceps and looked expectantly at his friend.

"The guy got about 30 seconds into his big villainous monologue and started falling apart. 'Least that's what the NYPD told us."

"Falling apart?"

"Skin, muscle, the works. S.H.I.E.L.D. containment scooped up what they could find and brought it here." He indicated the nearest cryo drawer with a tap of his knuckle. "Curiosity got the better of me, so I looked at him."

"Verdict?"

"Ever had lasagna MREs?"

Bruce gulped.

"Nope. And thanks to that, I never will."

Steve laughed and finished his coffee in one long gulp. Bruce watched his friend's Adam's apple bobbing as he himself removed his bloody gloves. He slapped them down on the side of the table. Lowering his mug, Steve looked over the dissected body with interest and slight apprehension.

"…Verdict?"

Running a clean hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, Bruce gave a confused half-smile.

"It's funny you told me that story."

"Oh?"

"Yeah…" Bruce shook his head and moved towards the intercom beside the door, placing his hand on it. "This thing might look like one...but it's not a Chitauri."

He pressed a single button which established a video link to the command room. A pretty but already annoyed face popped up in seconds. Behind Bruce, Steve simply kept staring at the splayed-open body, his posture defensive, as if at any moment the creature might leap up and grab him.

"Oh, hi, Agent Hill. Not a morning person, I take it."

She glared, then relented with a sigh…and a yawn. "May I help you?"

"Depends. Is Fury around?"


	3. Banished

Welcome back! Thor/Loki chapter. Moving right along.

* * *

With a strangled breath, Loki sat up in the pitch black room. A heavy, soft covering slipped down to pool at his waist as clinking sounds pierced the silence. Cold sweat coated his body, chafing everywhere metal met skin. Sharp pain began at those junctions. Still shackled, there was nothing he could do to prevent it except to remain as still as possible. He did so, his pale chest rising and falling dramatically with each breath, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The darkness was as thick as velvet, almost luxurious, but still his eyes darted around.

Had he been sleeping? His mind didn't feel that way- it was fully engaged, thoughts swirling. It was the same feeling that came after a battle…and not necessarily a victorious one. If he had just woken up, he must have dreamed of wartime.

Closing his eyes again, he struggled to remember anything that occurred after he was ripped from his confinement. That suddenly seemed just as elusive as the dream. Muted images sluiced through his mind: being dragged, being plucked from the ground, being warm, then hot, then boiling. Memories of fire sprang up in his subconscious…but were they memories, he wondered?

He breathed faster, the images now coming unbidden. Hands were on him, his legs being sheared away by churning rock. Ash filled the air, preventing him from crying out, coating the inside of his mouth as it was forced open for some unknown purpose.

The visions began to fade. Though some part of his mind cried out for him to stop prying, to leave well enough alone, he forged ahead after the retreating images. Suddenly, like a bell tower in a town square, a voice rang out inside him. It turned his resolve to terror.

"_We see you, Trickster." _

Panic rose faster than he could mitigate it and he could no longer remain still. His hands shot towards his temples, anything to stop the unbearable words still echoing inside him, but the cuffs around his wrists stopped short. Suddenly razor sharp, they left deep channels in his skin that filled immediately with wetness. The channels widened to gashes and he felt blood splash down his arms, _literally _splash, as if someone had overturned twin chalices of wine. He started to scream but there was some obstruction inside him. He heaved, causing a hot coal to rise up in his throat, blisters bubbling in its path and at the corners of his lips. Around him his coverings morphed, becoming organic, fleshy, beating in frantic time with his heart. He passed back into oblivion.

* * *

"_Brother."_

Loki was being shaken at the shoulder.

"Brother. Awake."

Eyes creaking open, Loki licked his lips and looked placidly at the man leaning over him.

"I'm glad you roused me. I almost hit the ground."

Thor's face remained stony as he peered even closer. A golden lock of his hair grazed Loki's cheek.

"You were in distress. I thought it wise…" Frowning, Thor trailed off and straightened.

Perhaps he had expected a warmer hello, Loki thought. Now fully in the conscious world, he realized his bonds were, indeed, still encircling his body. However, they had been loosened somehow, and though he wouldn't be winning any footraces, he realized there was enough slack for normal movement.

Thor, meanwhile, had walked to the window, where heavy brocade curtains stretched all the way up to the room's lofty ceiling. With little flourish and no warning, he threw them open. Pleasant afternoon light streamed in, showing Loki the entirety of his surroundings.

He was in a large, low bed strewn with fawn-colored pelts and linens, he noted immediately, of middling quality. They were scratchy on his pampered skin, so he tossed them off and placed his bare feet on the cool soapstone floor.

Thor stood quietly beside the large, open window. Outside, a green meadow dotted with clusters of wildflowers stretched for miles, terminating at the border of a spotty grove. As it approached the mountains beyond it, the grove thickened to a dark, mystic forest. The sound of birds and the low hum of some locust in the grass grated on Loki's ears.

"Alfheim. Really?" he stated, stretching, smiling. He fell back on his elbows and looked to his brother. "I never knew you to commune with nature, Thor." He parted his legs in a subtle gesture of relaxation and irreverence, tapping his right foot in time with the birdsong. "What brings us to the land of the fairies? Hoping to earn your wings?

"Do not mock me."

The serious tone of Thor's reply both surprised and inflamed Loki. Leaning forward, his chains dripping to the floor, Loki rose and strode lazily to join his brother by the window.

"Mock? I do no such thing, brother."

Blue eyes narrowing, Thor watched closely as Loki approached, spinning the chain hanging from his own neck in a large, swift circle.

"It is no business of mine where you take sabbatical. Blame simple curiosity." His green eyes flashed with mischief as he spun the chain faster.

"No, were I to mock you, I would call you brutish, barbaric, ineffectual and remind you that for all your power and pride, despite your misguided sense of _justice_," he spat, "every Midgardian I killed, I killed like a dog, and you…couldn't…_stop me._"

Though by now it was a blur, Thor snatched the chain out of the air. Pulling it taut, he forced Loki's face closer link by link until they could feel each other's breath. Then he simply stared, a storm on his brow, a muscle moving intermittently in his jaw.

Not exactly fearful, Loki stared back. He would have kept hurling spite, but the tight collar around his neck threatened to make him gag.

"You may say all you want about what occurred when you unleashed the Chitauri. Spew your hate, you will not find me surprised. You will not spur me to anger."

The sadness was back in Thor's eyes, but still he choked Loki even more fiercely. Loki's shackled hands trembled uselessly at his sides as he was lifted off the ground.

"But never…_NEVER_ claim to comprehend my sense of justice. I shall not warn you again."

Casting Loki to the ground with little care, Thor spat to the side and began to stride away in disgust. Despite little range of motion and even less traction, Loki was swift. He scrambled forward after his brother.

"Don't-" he snarled, slamming Thor in the back of his knees with all of his strength as well as the full weight of his body, "-walk away from me!"

Thor went flying, hitting the wall with enough force to bring chips of rock raining down. When he turned around, dust was settling into his hair and murder was settling into his eyes. He roared, launching himself downward at Loki, sending both of them sliding, tangled, across the ground. It was a free for all of blows (thanks to Thor) and bites (thanks to Loki). Each was in some way bruised or bloodied when, finally, Thor shouted.

"_ENOUGH!"_

His voice shook the rafters. Panting, Loki paused…then went in for another gut shot. Thor grabbed his wrist, then the other, totally pinning Loki with a knee in the middle of his chest.

"Not as much fight in you as I remember," Loki jabbed, writhing under his brother's leg.

"Enough."

This time Thor's voice was quieter, less authoritative.

"…enough."

This time it cracked with emotion. In sudden disbelief, Loki stopped struggling. Hanging his head until a sheet of golden hair hid his face, Thor sighed deeply. He rolled off of his brother and onto his own back. They laid like that for a time, side by side, looking at the ceiling, their breaths out of synch.

"I am banished," Thor whispered. At first, the only sound was the wind through the grass outside, then a chirping bird broke the tension.

Loki could have been cruel. He could have made assumptions and used his brother's confession to hurt him further. Instead, he asked a simple question.

"Why?"

Thor closed his eyes and folded his hands over his stomach, continuing.

"…It wasn't long after you were imprisoned that representatives of your former benefactor came to Asgard, demanding your extradition. Public opinion was against you, brother. I agonized over your welfare when the council put it to a vote. Before your fate was decided, though, I-….I…."

By this time, Loki had turned onto his stomach, propped himself up, and was searching his brother's face.

"What did you do?" Loki had his suspicions. However, he wanted to hear his brother say it, to watch his mouth form the words.

"I saved you. I have been transporting you from realm to realm ever since, treating you as cargo to avoid scrutiny. This, brother, is why I am banished, and why we reside in Alfheim."

The information sank in over a few quiet moments, then Loki frowned. He gazed out the window, mind blank of any suitable response to Thor's words. Internally his feelings of gratitude and bitterness were having their own disagreements. It was all he could do to ignore them long enough to take in the landscape stretching before him. He saw now that the sun was lower in the sky, as shadows of swift clouds traveled over the faraway mountains. Sounds of birds had given way to a whole soothing chorus of insects.

"It deeply pains me to admit that there is true beauty in the land of the fairies." Loki said as he stared, humbled.

Thor's eyes opened slowly. "It pleases me to know you think it. The sunsets…" He sat up fully, crossed arms resting on his knees. He pushed away the hair obscuring his face. A bruise was forming on his cheek, a row of teeth marks surrounding it. "…they are dazzling. I fear I became accustomed to the fineries of Asgard, her vast cities. Beauty is in every realm. We Asgardians are unwilling to acknowledge it."

Cynicism was closing back in on Loki.

"Very well, dear brother. Perhaps later we will watch the sunset. I will weave you a crown of flowers and we will relish our new home."

"Home?" Standing, Thor chuckled. He brushed off the front of his trousers, then held out a strong hand to help his brother stand as well. Loki took it.

"I apologize. Our new _kingdom_."

"You seem not to understand, Loki." Even after he had helped Loki up, Thor continued grasping his hand. "Those who pursue you are closing in. I have sensed it for days."

Loki felt himself go paler, recalling his dream, which he suspected now may have been more than that. A shiver coursed over his body.

"What are we to do?"

"We will travel to yet another realm. We move tonight. Though, brother, I must warn you..." Thor brought Loki's knuckles to his mouth. His rough beard felt electric as he kissed them softly. Noticing that Loki was absolutely aghast, Thor flashed him a roguish grin. "...there is only one realm remaining, and you may have worn out your welcome there."


End file.
